The Blue Card
by NerdAngel
Summary: A little blurb of my own modernized interpretation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle." (Not yet sure if I want make it into a short story).


**A/n: So awhile back, I did this challenge that was to take a story that hadn't been done yet by BBC's Sherlock, and modernize it like they've done a few times now in the show. I figured I'd share what I came up with. I haven't yet decided if I want to continue this and make it into a short story, or simply leave it as is. I chose "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle." A small summary for anyone who hasn't read it:**

 **"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson try to determine how a fabulous blue carbuncle found its way down the gullet of a goose."**

 **So here's my version: "The Blue Card."**

 **Thank you to anyone who reads, reviews, follows and/or favorites.**

 **This takes place after John has moved out and is married to Mary, but I would I guess say it's an AU since it takes place during Christmas. That being said, sorry I'm posting this in July.**

 **I don't own Sherlock or its characters.**

The Blue Card

It wasn't exactly unusual. It would have been if the man he called his best friend was more...normal, for lack of a better word. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't what most deemed usual or normal and some of that came from his peculiar ways of thinking and going about things. So, it was up to John to take normal matters into his own hands and supply them to his abnormal friend.

It had been two days since Christmas and John hadn't heard a word from Sherlock. No call, no surprise visit, not even a text.

"You know how Sherlock can get," Mary said reassuring her bothered husband. "He's probably working a case."

The doctor knew she was right, but it still didn't ease his mind any. His friend had once pulled a stunt that left him believing he was dead for two years, the truth was no one ever knew what Sherlock was thinking or planning. Not to mention the dangerous relationship he had with certain substances. Unable to contain himself and his growing concern, John took off to 221B Baker Street with the intention of either finding the detective in a compromised state, or giving him a piece of his mind for the scare and inconvenience he'd caused him.

He climbed the steps and approached the sitting room where he glared in and felt all the fear he'd been feeling drain from him. Seated in his chair in his robe, was Sherlock Holmes. His attention didn't waiver from the item he was holding in his hand, turning it around every which way and looking closely. To the doctor it was just a simple black umbrella, but to the detective, it was more.

Caught in the moment of annoyance John cleared his throat and with no warmth in his words remarked "Merry Christmas."

Sherlock scanned the handle of the umbrella.

"You're a bit late for holiday tidings aren't you?"

"You know what they say," John started his voice dangerously low and calm as he stared daggers at his former flat mate as though in doing so he could convey the message he was trying to get across to him, "better late than never." Sherlock only hummed a reply as he popped open the umbrella. "Jesus!" The doctor exclaimed startled. "It's bad luck to open an umbrella inside!"

"I don't believe in silly superstitions," the taller man countered before standing and approaching his friend. "What do you make of this?"

John looked from him to the now open item taking it from him and observing it.

"Well, it's seen better days," he answered honestly handing it back. "That's what I see."

"On the contrary John, you see more, you just fail to reason from it. Notice that there is a tear here as well as here which its owner has obviously tried to patch up. This umbrella isn't some quick market pick-up which you can tell by the elaborate handy work carved on the handle. The handle though beautifully crafted has a few scratched and chips. This suggests that the umbrella was rather expensive but has been through much wear and tear with its owner. Speaking of the owner, he still holds some self-respect as he's attempted to fix the holes that are in this one and not just simply buy a new one which he's capable of but perhaps not at the same caliber as this one here. Why do I assume it's a man? Because though it does display some fancy work it remains masculine still. Here on the inside are the letters 'H.B.' clearly the initials of its owner. Along with the umbrella, was a present. Attached to that was a tag that read 'For Mrs. Henry Baker.' It could be a sister or a close friend, however gauging by the wrapping paper as well as the wrapping itself not to mention the first name is Henry and the last is Baker which matches the initials 'H.B.' found on the umbrella, it was most likely a gift intended for his wife."

"How did you come by this? A case?"

"No, no- it's just one of those things that happens now and again," Sherlock answered. "You remember Peterson from the Hotel Cosmopolitan where we worked the case 'The Disappearing Stairs' I believe you called it? He was on his way home in a cab about 4am on Christmas morning when he saw what looked like some thugs intimidating another man. He demanded for the cabbie to stop and rushed at them. Everyone scattered, the thugs in one direction and the victim in the other. His umbrella had been pulled from him during the struggle with one of the men and there it laid forgotten along with the gift when he took flight. Peterson wasn't sure what to make of it all, so he brought them both to me."

"I see. And where is the present now?"

"I let Peterson have it. Seemed to me like he had better use of it than I had."

"You gave away someone else's gift?" John questioned. He shouldn't be surprised, and yet he couldn't hide the disbelief in his tone. Not that he was trying to. Before either of them could say anything else, the very man they had spoken of appeared holding a box in his hands.

"The gift Mr. Holmes!" He shouted.

"What of it?"

The man didn't speak but instead pulled out a porcelain goose.

"Pity that it didn't shatter on impact when it fell from Henry's grasp," Sherlock remarked clearly not impressed by it. Peterson stuck his hand into the bottom of the piece and when he removed it again, he was holding a tiny blue object. The detective eyed the item that sat on the palm of the man's hand with great enthusiasm and intrigue as a smirk slid across his lips.

"My wife was looking it over after I gave it to her, no doubt she figured I had forgotten to remove the price tag, when she noticed this stuck to the inside of the thing with tape," he explained.

"That... is a SIM card," the doctor reported slowly as he squinted at it.

"Precisely so," Sherlock agreed. "Given by its unusual location and the circumstance, it's not just any SIM card."

"No?"

"No. This card belongs to someone who has something to hide. Someone with secrets."

"Secrets?"

"Oh yes." Sherlock turned his gaze from the piece to look over at John. His mischievous grin still in place grew even wider. "You were right John."

"Right about what?"

"Christmas did come late this year."

 **A/n: Thank you for reading!**


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